


Entanglement

by Crispyteabiscuits



Series: Tales of the Convoluted [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Beaches, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks (Memory), Friendship, Getting Back Together, Good Death Eaters, Heartbreak, Implied Sexual Content, Love, Love Triangles, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miscarriage (Mentioned), Moscow, Open Marriage, Reconciliation, Romance, Romantic Soulmates, Russia, Seaside, Shell Cottage (Harry Potter), Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crispyteabiscuits/pseuds/Crispyteabiscuits
Summary: "Tell me, Hermione, did it all matter to you? Was all of it nothing but a marriage of convenience?" His sherry glass clinked against the glass tabletop, eyes wrung with a distraught she didn't dare address."I don't mind- I said I don't mind being your rock for a moment, I just," he gulped, "I just wanted to know. C-Could you ever find it in you to love me?"It took everything for Hermione to hold everything back but a dim nod- she the barest idea whether he could register it, in the vague clarity of the fair night.
Relationships: Antonin Dolohov & Hermione Granger, Antonin Dolohov/Hermione Granger, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Hermione Granger, Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Series: Tales of the Convoluted [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188581
Kudos: 4





	Entanglement

It was a long, drowsy night that drowned in its own darkness. Its air was cold to the touch, the leaves on the ground shivered and shrivelled. With a _crack_ , they faded into the wind and drifted afar. 

A soul crunched away as the penetrating needle of a heel tore the brown in half, like a seamstress that pierced their needle in flourished motions, all while chattering as the thread pulled itself through the crevices.

The heels clinked on, its wearer a flourish of curls tamed into a swirl of silk. Clattering against the weathered cement beneath her feet, poised against the faults of bricks, she walked as if she feared not the commotion would awake the dead silence, and walked as one would upon smooth, garnished marble. 

Collapsing on the bars of metal, icy from the touch, she leaned like a limp cloth against it, eliciting a sharp clang from the bar, it screeched at the cruel invasion. She wrung the flask around the metal, her chest imposing at pale sand and the washing waves.

Fervour matted her eyes, hollowed and ringed with darkness that echoed the evening. Her pale hands reached up to take a swig of the scarlet cruet, lips suckling at the droplets, barely catching a sip. It flowed down her neck like shimmering blood beneath the moonlight, glowering darkly as it sunk into the sleek articles of clothing. 

Pain flashed from her wrists, and her bun was flung loose. Dark waves lashed around. She screamed despite herself. 

She felt as if a knife had plunged into the depths of her belly, the drunken grin slipping off her face. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing!” The voice of her dreams sounded behind her.

Alcohol boiled in her veins, the girl knew she looked like a harlot with her hair tousled and her lipstick smeared. She raised a finger to trace his lips. How familiar, his face… She could place no other words. 

“You came!” She exclaimed, slinging her arms around him, who seemed less than reluctant, his movements not the slightest bit hesitant, clutching her elbows to support her flailing limbs. The girl’s red-drenched clothing slicked onto the man. His blue eyes scoured her form, eyebrows frowning when he gripped her wrist with a hand.

“What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” The girl in red pouted. 

“Are those yours?” He growled, eyes flashing dangerously. 

Following his gaze, fixated on her arm, she withdrew the long folds of clothing, coated in rosebuds of scarlet clutter. The skin pinched into itself as he grasped her arms firmly, his fingers sinking into her so deeply she could feel the flutters in her stomach.

It revolted her. It made her think of all those things she wanted to and didn’t want to. It made so many long-buried pasts and sealed wounds open up themselves. Blood flowed from it, streaks of cutting knives scalding hot against her heart. She wrenched her arm away from him, bringing it close to her chest, she scrunched the unshed tears away. His dark gaze followed her. 

Hermione wanted him to leave her, and fling his arms around her, and proclaim his undying affection for her, and promise that he’ll never leave her, not again, not anymore, not ever. 

Hermione wondered if Antonin could tell by her face, the struggles within. 

“No, you don’t get to do this to me. Not after—“ Hermione’s mind still won out; it always had, she did not hesitate to watch the icy words press onto his face. Hermione took joy in witnessing the expression on his face. 

Hermione did not feel guilt watching Antonin writhe and whimper, so she let her fingers grip around the bottle of power she felt. 

After all, if it began with him, it should end with him. If Hermione hadn’t silenced him, they wouldn’t stand beneath the moonless sky.

“-Everything I’ve done, in Azkaban? I served my time, _kotenok.”_ He spat, the distaste poisonous upon Hermione’s lips. 

“Don’t call me that.” Hermione seethed between gritted teeth, fury like a cold wave bashing against the shore, she wrenched her wrists away from his wandering hands. 

She didn’t trust her heart now, not anymore. 

“You _relished_ in it, _Myshka._ Accept that this will be our fate, that I will always be the sinful, the broken, the _murderer_.” Antonin’s voice raised, taking large strides at Hermione, who covered her ears and turned from the flames in his gaze to look at the waves lapping at the beach, swallowing bits of sand and tossing foams at the shoreline. She resisted the urge to double over at the rough wood fence that grated like shards of glass against her arm. 

“Look at this face! This face that hundreds of bodies six feet under had once looked upon, as they spiralled into madness. Look at this face, and tell me you would still take me back… ” Antonin’s voice shook. Hermione stared at him. _Oh, Toshka, how would I say no?_ Her heart already knew him, and wanted to kiss his tears away and coddle his shoulders.

Hermione closed her eyes, briefly wished she could just slam the shutters of her windows as a child would and pretended for a moment that the world she knew now did not exist. That she was not a witch, and Voldemort’s existence did not threaten her, and countless lives- that Antonin, the one she loved, had not killed so many, so mercilessly, had not squeezed the soul out of his victims with his vice-like grip

“These hands,” he grasped hers, warmth spreading to the tips of her ears. She had never been so warm, not in three long years, “these are the hands that killed, that tortured so many...So many...Your friends...Their family...Muggleborns.” 

_No, no. Stop!_ Hermione barely withheld a scream. She couldn’t block out the noises now. The strike of a purple lash, a shock that tore wails and screeches from its victim, the world would tremble under its fury, the skies would rip apart in its presence.

A tear in the blue skies was a terror that shrouded her childhood in an eternal nightmare. 

Yet. 

“Look— Look at this monster you claim to love…” She wanted to tear her heart from her innards. Bloody hell, how much did Hermione want to throw herself into his warm chest and cry? Cry of the painful years of going home to an empty bed, cry of the insults and vulgarity thrown at her for openly tangling with a former Death Eater. She wanted to bang her fists against his chest for leaving her in the world, where she had nothing to look and smile for, where they were separated and alone when they could’ve been welded in a union. The bells she wanted desperately as a child faded into lonely chimes in an echoing church, where her prayers were reduced into whispers unheard, words unsaid. 

Why was he the kind soul that spoke of warmth and daylight? Why did he promise her the sun and the moon, yet leapt at the first train to Azkaban? 

Hermione stared up at his limp, heaving figure, his hair dishevelled from scratching and pulling. Antonin’s eyes rimmed with shadows, his form hunched and Hermione could see how the years had been gruelling to him with his gouged collar bones that jutted out like a spring. She wanted to run her fingers along his shoulder blades and let her tears flourish them until they were full again. 

Antonin had released his hold on her, no doubt in despair for his darkness. He had told her so earnestly that darkness did not deserve light, that evil should burn and remain so until eternity, that he was to burn in Azkaban. How could he forget her? He placed his righteousness before Hermione and left her in the cottage, which seemed too big for her when the flashes of the olden days re-enacted at every corner. But he wouldn’t know all that, he wasn’t there. Hermione wanted nothing more than to scream at him. 

Why did he have to be the one that drew her away from her fears and turned her days into wonders? 

“No…You won’t. Why did you say yes to me, you were so young, so full of life, why did you say that to a man who had nothing left to give?” The man staggered and stumbled. Her heart aches for this broken creature, begging to be fulfilled. He was like a deer on a broken hind leg, and she wanted to heal his wounds, pet the sweat on his forehead, and kiss his nose. 

Why did she never fear him? 

She should, but she couldn’t.

She could never. 

Because—

She palmed his cheeks and laid her lips onto his. A sigh of relief was breathed into each other. She let her forehead stay against his. It was hardly believable how her cold trembling arms were one with her heated forehead. With all spirit that was still in her, Hermione cherished his touch quietly, she cherished the man who had given her heaven and hell, and all passion within. 

“Antonin. You were never the monster.” She whispered softly, brushing the dark locks from his lowered head that was shaking unnervingly.

Hermione placed a dagger in his heart, gently, she was scared and anticipated to pierce through his skin. Then she plunged and twisted the knife, watched as the agony spread across his features, as his brows furrowed and his eyes twitched in concentrated pain. 

“It was I, I betrayed you.” A flinch, or was it the hitch of a breath? Hermione willed herself to go on, to push them beyond the point of no return. 

“I wed myself with _Sirius_ ,” Hermione murmured, she resisted to stroke his locks as the band of promise glowered darkly at them. The image of Sirius’ resurrection was still etched her mind, watching Sirius emerge from the veil, just as they remembered when he had drifted off into its translucent blinds. 

The face before her was nothing short of pain as though she had placed the beating organ in her palm and squeezed, as hard as she could. His glassy dark eyes peered at her like he was seeing her for the first time. 

He whispered so quietly, “you wouldn’t.” 

“Oh but I did, Toshka,” her heart ached at the namesake that had been buried at the back of her tongue for years, finally used— to tear apart her long lost lover. 

She ignored her heart that cracked so loudly under her feet, swivelling her heels against it, “Can you believe it, Sirius Black, found alive in Ukraine!” smiling widely at Antonin when he laid still, she cupped his head, to find his face tightly pinched. 

“I’m the monster… But ha! Did you really expect that I would wait for you?” it had been words dragging like iron from her mouth, but she couldn’t stop once she started, “Then again, if you consider it— of course, I couldn’t be wedded to a Dolohov, a _glorious_ lineage of Death Eater _gits_.” She laughed, harder than when she had kissed Sirius sweetly during their reunion.

“What did you make of me, my dear Antonin, to forfeit my name as part of the Golden Trio to sully myself with my _enemy_?” Fondling with her ring, she admired how poisonous her words were against her heart.

“The glory, the fame— I thought you said you weren’t made for this,” The blades of his jaws were clenched so tightly, Hermione had once been the one to unwind them with a kiss, maybe two. 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed for authenticity, when had she become such a flawless actress? Perhaps when she had fooled the world with her binding to Sirius Black, the man she had always thought of as Harry’s Godfather, who then became a hot summer’s fling; who then kneeled onto the grains of sand during sunset one night, the Black Family’s ring in hand. Hermione toyed at the ring, at the laughter and joy Sirius never failed to spread onto her face. Whether it was only a facade, Hermione couldn’t tell anymore. For all she knew, her emotions weren’t hers to have. 

“It’s been three year, Antonin, people change— is it that hard to believe that I wouldn’t grow to like the gallant flashes of the cameras, the cheers of a crowd—? But you can’t blame me for that, can you? You were drunk on vodka, so why can I not be drunk on fame?” Hermione smirked. Words were a beautiful veil to duck behind, it made one look courageous and invincible when in reality they were fragile. Once one had mastered the battle of wits, to show a broken leg when you had a recovered spirit, to show a victorious smirk when you had a weakened soul— one would never lose in the battle of the heart.

She will no longer dream of the Russian man that brought her the stars from the skies. The man she loved as a girl and as a woman. 

“Of course, Myshka, I suppose people do change. You need not sully yourself with a bloodthirsty murderer any longer.” At his words, she clutched at the flimsy material of her red dress further. _Take me back. Please, I didn’t mean it._ Her heart cried out. 

His fingers began to tear away from her wrist. Hermione was free, she had been free for three months. 

The weight left her arms, and she closed her eyes. The breeze of the oceans running through her nostrils in wonderful wafts of crisp, salty fragrance. And through her hair, they ran through the battered curls like a honeyed remedy. 

Hermione held onto her reign until his warmth had left her presence, did she collapse further onto the floor. With her shoulders hunched, it began to shake wildly. She panicked, and forced a laugh from the tight grip of her throat, hoping it was convincing enough even though it felt as if she were grating glass shards together. Tears ran hot with shame against her face, she was aghast at how much it pained to separate from him. Only weeks ago had she stood by Sirius’ side, like a faithful and loving spouse before the camera, she had sworn her love for the man and completely wiped clean her conscience of memories of Antonin. 

Hermione had sold their shell cottage that they had put blood and sweat into, resigned from her position in the Ministry, and restored her very own Gringotts vault— it was then that she realised how dependent she was on Antonin. Never had she had to worry for the comfort of another when he was at her every whim? It was different, with Sirius. Nothing about them was quiet, with him it was speeding down a highway on a magic motorbike, picking at roses in their neighbours’ backyard, stealing kisses in forbidden parts of the Ministry, barely concealed from the public's eyes. Hermione wasn’t sure she liked it, but it kept her in peace for the first time in years. 

Hermione touched her cheek, tears already matting the wooden floor below her. She envisioned his lips grazing her forehead one last time, and shut her eyes tight. _This is it. This is the last of us. Never will you see his eyes again, or feel his touch. This is it._ Momentarily, she felt like she could break down into a puddle and join the rest of her tears on the wooden plank floor. 

But she stood up anyway and picked up the shattered shards of her heart from the floor because no black-haired man was to clean up after her this time. Because Hermione was going home to a man who must have begun pacing in the sitting room already, as the stars had filled the London skies. 

Footsteps faded from the cracked pavement, they faltered and righted. 

The moon was beautiful that night, so much that they took the stars from the night sky. 

You’d wonder where they went.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter! This is the first fanfic of a rare ship that I've posted. There aren't enough Antonin/Hermione fanfics out there, it's really what motivated me to write one of my own.
> 
> While you're here, please check out other works from the pairing! 
> 
> Feel free to also comment, I'd really appreciate any form of feedback that will help improve upon the story.
> 
> *The story is completely fictitious, and is not made to offend anyone*
> 
> It will be continued! The update will come very soon, I already have them written, just have to wait until the chapters much further along are written and edited, so I can balance the uploading and my hectic school schedules.


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